


If Suddenly You Forget Me

by ElderBerryBeret



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Richie is grounded, Sad Ending, Some internalised homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderBerryBeret/pseuds/ElderBerryBeret
Summary: Well, nowIf little by little you stop loving meI shall stop loving youLittle by littleIf suddenly you forget meDo not look for meFor I shall already have forgotten you.Pablo Neruda
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak
Kudos: 3





	If Suddenly You Forget Me

Richie Tozier was going to be in so much trouble. 

Once again, his report card contained a series of As for attainment, and Ds for deportment. This was never surprising. Richie had a brilliant brain, but he’d not been able to control his mouth since he first learned to talk, and was constantly finding himself on the wrong side of the Principal’s office door. 

He was used to disappointing his mother, and making his father lose his usual sense of humour around the time of each report card. He had been warned, after his last, that his parents expected to see an improvement in his general attitude. They said he’d need references to submit with his college applications next year, and “class clown” was not an attractive proposition for admissions boards. 

The stakes were higher now that Richie was old enough to drive. He only had his car on his parents’ sufferance. What Mom and Dad giveth, Mom and Dad could taketh away. 

“Is it terrible?” Stan said, plucking the paper out of Richie’s hand and holding it out of reach, while he scanned the page. “Oof.” He said. “Maggie’s not going to be happy with this.”

Richie snatched the report back and stuffed it into his backpack. “Shut up, Stan.”

There was always a chance he could talk his way out of it. 

***

His charm offensive was unsuccessful, as was his attempt to debate his way out of the consequences of his sub-par report. His parents didn’t take the car away, but he was grounded for the first three weeks of summer vacation.

***

Richie didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about what had happened during the summer three years ago. If he ever did stop to think about it, for example, when he was stuck inside, grounded, he was struck with a sense of unfocused horror, which was weird, because what could have happened in a small town like Derry to provoke such a strange reaction? It was also weird that he couldn’t remember anything specific about that summer until the last days of August. Everything prior to that was blurry and indistinct in his memory.

He did finish the summer with more friends than he started with, having acquired Mike somewhere along the way. And he thought that the summer three years ago was when he’d first fallen in love with Eddie.

Richie was constantly being blindsided by his feelings for his best friend.

Case in point, he was always struck by a rush of affection for Eddie when he climbed in through Richie’s open window. This time he came with a packet of Flaming Hot Cheetos and the latest Wolverine edition, having hidden his bike out of sight. Richie put a cassette in his tape deck, and set the music playing, to drown out the sound of Eddie thumping awkwardly over the window sill onto the carpet.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie said, using his indoor voice, and grabbing the Cheetos out of Eddie’s hands. They both knew he’d eat most of them. Eddie was careful about what he ate, and being careful didn’t include eating a whole packet of orange dusted non-food. “Have you come to break me out of jail? Set me free, Eddie. I’ve been unjustly imprisoned.”

“You’ve only got a week to go.” Eddie said. “Suck it up, Richie.” 

The ended up laying side by side on Richie’s bed, reading the comic together like they had at least once a week for several years. Eddie wouldn’t let Richie put his Cheeto-dusted fingers on the pages, and Richie kept very still, hyper-conscious of every point of contact between them - shoulders, hips, thighs - and tried to focus on Wolverine. It wasn’t easy with Eddie so close.

“What are you guys doing later?” Richie said, as they finished the comic, mostly to distract himself from their proximity.

“Mike and Stan are going to see Batman Returns.” Eddie said. Richie flopped onto his back dramatically, covering his eyes. “I’m not going - I’ll wait until you’re free. We can go together next week.”

“You should go.” Richie said. 

Eddie looked sceptically down at him, leaning on one elbow. “Really? Because I know you really want to see it, and you’ll hate it if we see it before you. I can wait until you’re ungrounded. It’s no big deal.”

“Go.” Richie said. “You’re not grounded. Make the most of your freedom, Eds. You don’t need to suffer along with me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Eddie said, thumping Richie on the head with his own pillow. Richie yelped and tugged the pillow out of Eddie’s hands and thumping him back with it. Eddie fell off the bed with a thump.

“Richie!” The voice of Richie’s mother drifted from downstairs. “What are you doing up there?”

“Nothing Mom.” Richie called back, shushing Eddie with a silent mime. 

“Tell Eddie he’s welcome to stay for dinner, if he’s hungry.” 

“OK Mom.” Richie rolled his eyes at Eddie, who just shrugged.

***

Richie’s house arrest ended the following week. He’d done his time with humility and grace, if he did say so himself, and, barring the reverse jail-breaks frequently performed by Eddie, he’d stuck diligently to the terms of his grounding. 

He and Eddie had agreed to go to the movies. Richie was Marvel all the way, but made an exception for Batman. He drove over to Eddie’s to pick him up. He pulled over and beeped the horn, waiting for Eddie to come out. Richie and Eddie’s mom had a patchy relationship, at best, and Richie didn’t feel like doing battle with the master of passive-aggressive sniping.

Eddie came out of his front door, calling out a “Bye Mom,” over his shoulder, and got in the passenger side, throwing his backpack onto the back seat. 

Richie pulled away from the kerb, driving extremely carefully until he reached the end of Eddie’s street. Mrs Kaspbrak would certainly be watching from behind her net curtains.

At the movie theatre, Richie paid for the tickets, and Eddie bought the popcorn and drinks. Richie was reminded that, especially lately, it was preferable for him and Eddie to go to the movies in a group, rather than just the two of them. Sitting side by side alone with him in the dark was excruciating. Richie wanted to reach over and hold Eddie’s hand and he knew perfectly well that he couldn’t act on his feelings. Eddie would probably be disgusted. 

Things didn’t work out for boys like him in small towns like Derry. Maybe if he got into college in New York or LA, his life would take a different turn, and he’d be able to be more honest with himself and everyone else. Maybe he’d meet other boys like him. Maybe he wouldn’t be afraid to take hold of a boy’s hand in a movie theatre. 

Richie hated feeling permanently on edge, it didn’t sit well with his energy. He knew what he felt was bad, wrong, and sinful. Father Burke would certainly have a lot to say, if the subject were ever to come up in the confessional, not that Richie would be dumb enough to mention it. 

So Richie spent the entire movie alternately wanting to move closer to Eddie, and wanting to move further away. Say the next state. His attention was split, and he missed half the movie. 

“Come on, Richie.” Eddie exclaimed, after Richie failed for the third time to respond to a comment he’d made about the film. “I waited until you were un-grounded, and you weren’t even paying attention.”

“Just wasn’t feeling it.” Richie said.

Sometimes it didn’t take much to start Eddie off on one of his angry rants. This one was about how ungrateful Richie was for not appreciating the sacrifices Eddie made to wait out Richie’s grounding (Richie was paraphrasing, of course). Richie must have failed to wear a sufficiently contrite expression, or perhaps he said the wrong thing in response because Eddie slammed out of the car and stalked down the path to his front door. 

***

Richie was a sixteen year old boy. He was made of hormones, bad judgement and anxiety. He avoided Eddie for a few days, hiding out in his bedroom, until Stan hauled him out into the light of day, grumbling about how Richie was being completely obvious. 

“Obvious about what?” Richie said.

Stan just rolled his eyes.

***

Richie was grateful for Mike, and Stan and Eddie. Richie felt particularly grateful while they worked together on their summer project. Mike was so good at history, that they were practically carried by him on every project they collaborated on. They were in Stan’s dining room, gathered around the dinner table and Mike was explaining something about the French Revolution. Richie was trying to concentrate, he really was. But concentration rarely came easily to him. 

Instead of thinking about the project, Richie was thinking about how, when the four of them were together, he sometimes felt the group was missing pieces, pieces that were half remembered, but which slipped over his mind like satin slipping through his fingers.

He enjoyed spending time with the three of them. There was nothing about Mike or Stan that provoked the same feelings he had for Eddie, so at least he knew he was not a total degenerate. That wasn’t to say that Richie didn’t appreciate Mike’s height or the delicate bones in Stan’s wrists, that he wasn’t able to see the physical attributes that made Mike and Stan attractive in their own way. He supposed other boys could see the same in the girls at school, but, for all Richie’s talk, girls didn’t interest him. Instead, Richie was drawn to Eddie like a magnet, and wanted to spend as much time as possible in his orbit.

Being in Eddie’s orbit was distracting, infuriating. He had to keep his guard up, but not so much that he was being weird, to maintain the friendly touches that they’d always shared without overstepping. It was exhausting being around Eddie sometimes, but also exhilarating. Like Eddie put the oxygen back in the room, and Richie was getting high on the purity of the air.

Mike said something about the history of Derry, and Richie’s mind turned to how sometimes, when walking through town, Richie was struck by fear so intense it was almost disabling. Neibolt Street. The statue of Paul Bunyan. The Barrens. And whereas Neibolt Street and Paul Bunyan were understandably creepy, he couldn’t understand why the Barrens provoked such fear. If anything, he only had good memories of the Barrens. He remembered playing down there with Eddie, and Stan sometimes, although Stan never liked the dirt down there. He used to prefer to play in the landscaped parks in the better part of town. Richie tended to agree with him now. Inexplicably, the Barrens were a no-go zone these days. Just the thought of going there gave Richie the creeps.

“Are you going to contribute to this project, Richie?” Mike said. “Or just sit there and daydream?”

Richie threw a balled up piece of paper at Mike’s head and said, “I’m bored, Mike. We need a break.” He pulled a badly rolled joint out of his pocket and waved it under Mike’s nose.

“Put that away.” Stan hissed. “If my Mom sees that, I’ll be grounded for the rest of my life.” Richie put it back in his pocket, and started packing up his mostly unopened books.

***

A few hours later, Richie was pleasantly buzzed sitting in the backseat of his own car on the road that led to Mike’s farm, watching Mike’s back as he walked up the hill. Eddie didn’t smoke, it would wreak havoc with his asthma, so he was complaining about being the sober one again, about how the summer project was still unfinished, didn’t Richie care about the extra credit? And how inconsiderate they all were.

“You need to lighten up.” Richie said. “If anyone needs to be stoned around here, it’s you Eds. You’re so uptight.”

“Fuck you, Richie.” Eddie said. “You know I can’t smoke.”

“I’ll make you some special brownies, Eds.” Richie said, inexplicably thinking about gazebos for a second, before focussing, as much as he could focus on anything, back on Eddie.

“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie said reflexively. But he didn’t say no to the brownies.

***

So that was how Richie ended up in his kitchen, while his parents were running errands in town, baking two batches of brownies. One was a normal batch for his folks to share - his cover for when his mother realised he’d used up half of her butter and sugar - and one was special. Richie placed the special brownies in a red-topped Tupperware, and drove over to Eddie’s house.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon when Eddie’s mom had gone to visit his aunts, leaving Eddie home alone (although Richie was 99% certain that Mrs Kaspbrak will have begged and badgered Eddie to go along with her. There may well have been tears involved. Eddie must have been resolute). Mrs K wasn’t due back until late on Sunday. Eddie was a free man.

Richie knocked on the front door. Eddie let him in.

“I bring gifts.” Richie said, producing the box from behind his back.

“I got the movies.” Eddie said. “We’re doing the classics. Back to the Future, Ghostbusters and Indiana Jones.”

“Nice.” Richie said, while Eddie put the tape in and clicked the remote control.

They settled in on the sofa, with the curtains drawn, the hash brownies and a large bottle of Coke. This, in Richie’s opinion, was the best way to spend a Saturday, and he said as much to Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes, and started the movie. 

Richie handed Eddie a brownie. “Nervous?”

Eddie took the brownie and shook his head. “I’ve seen you stoned so many times. I think I know what to expect.” He took a big bite of the brownie. 

Richie paused the movie and went outside to smoke a cigarette. When he came back, Eddie had eaten three brownies. 

“I don’t think it’s working.” Eddie said.

“Oh holy Jesus.” Richie said. “It takes a while to kick in, dumbass. Oh my god, Eddie, you’re going to be as high as a kite.”

“I’ll live.” Eddie said, shrugging and restarting the movie. This was uncharacteristic of buttoned-up, control-freak Eddie, but who was Richie to judge? The whole point of the baking and the brownies was to give Eddie the chance to experience something that Richie took for granted. Richie might not have been convinced that Eddie had asthma, but he knew Eddie well enough to know that he’d never smoke.

Richie took the Tupperware out of Eddie’s hands and put it in the kitchen.

About forty minutes in, Eddie started to lose his stiff Eddie-like posture, sinking into the couch cushions, like his strings had been cut, and laughing hard at the sight of Marty McFly struggling to cope with being back in 1955. 

“Feeling OK?” Richie said.

Eddie’s giggles tapered off and he nodded. “I didn’t say thank you for the brownies.” He said. “So thank you, Richie. It was cool of you to bake them for me.”

“I baked them so you could get baked.” Richie said.

“You’re not as hilarious as you think.” Eddie said. “But you are pretty funny.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Richie said, and this set Eddie off giggling, which set Richie off in turn. Richie also didn’t know what they were laughing about. They’d just about got themselves under control when Biff drove into the manure truck on screen, which set them off again. 

“We need snacks.” Richie said, some minutes later. “And no, we’re not eating any more brownies, Eddie.”

Eddie shuffled into the kitchen and came back with a packet of Oreos, some Twinkies and a bowl full of carrot sticks.

“What’s with the whole foods, Eddie?” Richie said. “Your body might be a temple, but carrots aren’t going to cure the munchies, you know.”

“Shut up.” Eddie said. “I bought the snacks in specially. They’re for you.”

Richie grabbed the Oreos and shoved two in his mouth at once. “Aren’t you going to have any?” He said. 

“Some of us care about our bodies, Richie, and don’t live on snacks.” Eddie said, eating a carrot stick.

“But Twinkies are so good.” Richie said, unwrapping one.

“If you say so.” Eddie said, obviously unwilling to get into a battle about snacks. He was probably remembering the numerous times he’d engaged Richie in a trivial argument that had got completely out of hand. Richie was thinking about an incident involving an argument about the nutritional value of wholemeal bread versus white that had lasted three weeks, and which had only ended when Stan intervened to put a stop to it.

They watched to the end of the movie, and Eddie put the next one in. When he sat back down, he was much closer to Richie. Richie shifted until he was pressed between the side of the sofa on one side, and Eddie on the other. It was comfortable and excruciating simultaneously. 

Stoned Richie felt like he had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil was urging him to lean over and kiss Eddie, and the angel, predictably, was reminding him what the consequences might be if he did that. He could almost feel the weight of the imaginary celestials, like phantoms with mass, weighing him down.

Eddie was right there leaning on Richie’s shoulder, his head was tipped back, and Richie’s eyes tracked the line of Eddie’s throat, his glasses causing Eddie’s face to be slightly out of focus at this proximity. Eddie’s eyes were shut.

Richie really wanted to kiss him.

And he was stoned enough to think that this really bad idea was, in fact, a really good idea.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Eddie’s. It was a brief, dry kiss. Eddie’s eyes flew open, and he shifted, sitting up straighter, and moving so he was kneeling on the sofa. Richie braced himself for angry fall-out, but none came. Instead, Eddie held the back of Richie’s head and guided him into a second kiss. 

This was unexpected. Even in Richie’s own personal daydreams about kissing Eddie, Eddie always pulled away, he never kissed back. Richie’s own imagination struggled to stretch to the possibility that he and Eddie might be able to kiss each other. Richie swivelled so he was facing Eddie directly and leaned into the kiss. 

Neither of them had much - or any - experience and Richie had no idea that it could be so consuming, to have his lips gliding over Eddie’s, to have his tongue touching Eddie’s, to have Eddie kissing him back enthusiastically, messily. He finally understood why a first kiss was such a big deal.

Richie wanted to push Eddie back, so he was lying on the sofa, with Richie above him. Instead, Eddie pushed and pulled at Richie until he was in the right position, both of them kneeling on the sofa, facing each other, while Eddie kept one hand in Richie’s loose curls, and the other touching the side of Richie’s neck. Richie’s hands landed on Eddie’s hips, gripping the denim of his jeans.

They broke apart. Richie pressed his head into Eddie’s shoulder, not sure if he could make eye contact with him. He was already starting to second guess himself. Should he have done that? The answer was obviously yes, as Eddie leaned in for another kiss.

“Wait, Eddie.” Richie said. 

“No, no, no.” Eddie said. “I’ve been waiting for years.”

“You have?” 

Eddie shifted, not giving Richie the opportunity to hide his face. “I want to kiss you again.” He said, pulling Richie into another kiss. This one was feverish, sparking something so hot between them that Richie was stunned, knocked senseless. His hands found Eddie’s hair, threading through the soft, dark strands, and he was overcome with the urge to kiss along Eddie’s jawline and down his neck. So he did, making Eddie breathe heavily and tip his head to one side, giving Richie better access. Richie felt a rush of power at being able to make Eddie moan, and realised that he wanted to keep doing that for as long as he could.

Eddie’s hands cupped Richie’s face, guiding him back into another kiss, and Richie pulled Eddie closer, sitting back so Eddie was more or less in Richie’s lap. Richie’s hands were on Eddie’s ass.

Richie heard the sound of a key in the front door, and Eddie threw himself back across the sofa, just as his mother walked in, shaking the rain from her coat.

“Oh hi, Mrs K!” Richie exclaimed, at the same time as Eddie said, “Mom, what are you doing back?” As he grabbed a pillow and held it in his lap.

“Richie.” Mrs Kaspbrak said, her voice colder than winter in Maine, moving through the living room and into the kitchen, and shooting Eddie a look that did not bode well.

The only thing worse than almost being caught with his hands down Eddie’s pants, was being under the watchful eye of Sonia Kaspbrak while high on his edibles. Richie was aware that his eyes were probably red, and huge behind his glasses, there was a high risk of tipping into the giggles at any given moment, and if Sonia didn’t already know that he and Eddie were high, it was only a matter of time. Richie and Eddie were not exactly smooth criminals. 

Mrs K’s protectiveness was legendary. If she thought for one instant that Richie had corrupted her precious son, Richie would not set foot in Eddie’s house again, and Eddie would be grounded forever. Mrs K would not hesitate to get on the phone to Richie’s mom. 

“I should go.” Richie whispered.

Eddie looked shell-shocked, but nodded. Richie called his goodbye to Mrs K, who pointedly ignored him, and squeezed Eddie’s shoulder as he left.

***

Richie spent the next four days, hiding out in his bedroom, thinking that Eddie was avoiding him. And wondering if he’d made the biggest mistake. He cursed his stoned self, and swore off weed for the rest of his life.

By Thursday, Stan and Mike staged an intervention, talking their way past Richie’s mom and dragging him out into the light, and to lunch at the diner.

“Spill.” Mike said, handing Richie his Coke and sliding into the booth next to him. Stan was opposite. 

Richie slurped his drink loudly through the straw and looked blankly back at Mike. He wasn’t going to talk. He was resolute. Mike and Stan came for the full story, and would leave with nothing more than Richie’s silence.

“We know you’ve had a fight with Eddie.” Stan said. 

Richie, predictably, crumbled. “What did he tell you?” He said, oh god, what if Eddie had told them that Richie had made a pass at him while he was stoned? What would they think of him? He’d kept his secrets for so many years, and he was terrified that his entire house of cards was about to fall. The house of cards being, of course, his feelings for Eddie and the reality of his homosexuality.

Mike and Stan shared a look.

Richie needed something to do with his hands, so he lit a cigarette, and watched as the smoke curled from the tip, feeling the hit of the nicotine at the back of his throat.

“He didn’t tell us anything.” Mike said, and Richie felt a rush of relief. 

“Well then, there’s nothing to tell.” Richie said. “Eddie and I aren’t fighting.”  
Stan looked distressed, and Richie started to think there was more going on here than just him and Eddie avoiding each other for a few days.

“What’s going on?” Richie said, taking a drag of his cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray. “For god’s sake guys, stop looking like someone’s puppy died and tell me what’s wrong with Eddie.”

Mike said, “Eddie’s leaving.”

Richie was stunned into silence.

Stan continued. “He’s moving to Albany to live with his aunts.”

***

Richie parked down the street, out of sight of Eddie’s house, and climbed in through Eddie’s bedroom window. The room was half packed already. Eddie’s bookshelves were empty, and his boxed and unopened Star Wars figures were stacked on his bed. Richie had the same figures, unboxed and well-loved, somewhere in his house, most likely jumbled together in a toy box in some forgotten corner of the basement. He picked up a Boba Fett figure and turned it over in his hands. This really summed up the differences between Eddie and Richie. Eddie kept his things neat and perfect, pristine, while Richie tore through them, using them up. Richie wondered if Eddie felt Richie had torn through him.

Eddie came through the door, carrying a basket of laundry, and startled when he saw Richie, standing in his room. He kicked the door shut.

“I wondered when you’d find out.” Eddie said, flatly.

“Mike and Stan told me.” Richie said. He wanted to say that it had hurt, badly, hearing this momentous news from someone other than Eddie, but he didn’t want to start a fight. “When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.” Eddie said. “My aunts aren’t well. Mom needs to look after them.”

Richie had a flash of insight, thinking that it wasn’t true that Eddie’s aunts needed Mrs K. He thought that Eddie himself probably believed it, but somehow Richie knew in his gut that the sudden move had more to do with what had happened on Saturday between them, than with Eddie’s relative’s health. Mrs K would not want Richie putting his dirty hands on her precious son, or corrupting him with drugs. She’d move heaven and earth to shield Eddie from Richie’s bad influence.

Richie took a deep breath. If he didn’t ask, he would never know. Did he want to know? Richie wasn’t sure, but was prepared to jump in feet first. Eddie was leaving. It was barely possible for things to be any worse.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around these last few days.” Richie said. “I was afraid things would be weird between us, because of what happened.”

Eddie blinked up at him, his brown eyes wide and surprised, and didn’t answer immediately. He put the laundry basket down, and moved closer to Richie, reaching out and catching Richie’s fingers in his. “It’s not weird.” He said. 

Richie’s heart started pounding in his throat, his skin burning where they were touching. Whatever plausible deniability they may have had as a result of their under-the-influence make-out session, evaporated when Richie leaned down and kissed Eddie.

The kiss was brief, but passionate. Richie never wanted it to end.

“Eddie-Bear!” Mrs K called from downstairs. “I’ve made you lunch. Come down, please.”

“I’ve got to go.” Eddie said, pulling back. “I’ll call you when I get to Albany.”

“I wish I knew when I’m going to see you again.” Richie said, reaching out and gripping Eddie’s hand, and wishing he could hold on forever.

“Maybe you can drive down during the holidays.” Eddie said. “I’ll be sixteen in September. I’ll get my driving licence, I’ll save up for a car, and come back to see you. And maybe we’ll both get into NYU - we could be roommates.”

“Eddie!” Mrs K’s voice was shrill and demanding. “Your lunch is getting cold.” Eddie got that guilty look he sometimes got when he disobeyed his mother.

“This sucks balls, Eds.” Richie said, as he climbed out of the window. He couldn’t say more, he was too choked up.

***

The next few weeks were terrible. Richie could feel Eddie’s absence viscerally, like a chronic pain in his chest. He supposed this was what heartbreak felt like.

They stayed in touch, but their phone calls were strange. Sometimes they’d talk normally, like Eddie was a few streets away, not in New York State. Other times, Richie would end the calls with a disconnected feeling in his guts, not altogether sure why he’d called in the first place. 

There were times when he picked up the phone and took several seconds to place Eddie as the caller, which became more frequent as the summer moved on. 

Eventually the calls between Albany and Derry stopped.

***

By the time school started in September, Richie began his junior year with two good friends, and a sense, half-remembered, that someone important, someone vital, was missing from the lunch room, from English class, from the passenger seat of his car. When he tried to examine the thoughts, his mind slipped over them like satin slipping through his fingers. 

Richie started the semester feeling inexplicably empty, dead inside, like he’d forgotten how to feel any emotions. The sense of loss prickled persistently at him, jolting him at the sight of a kid in red shorts, or when he passed Mr Keene’s pharmacy. Sometimes he would cry for no reason. Eventually, the emptiness shrank to the very core of him, and Richie was able to paper over the cracks and return to some new kind of normality.

By Thanksgiving, he was consumed with college applications, and Richie, Mike and Stan spent most of their time debating the relative merits of the various colleges and cramming for the SATs. For some reason that he could not explain, Richie was set on going to NYU, but by the time the offers came through in Spring, he couldn’t remember why.

In the end, he chose UCLA.


End file.
